


in the dark, you lit me up

by MelikaElena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Healthy Communication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 13:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/pseuds/MelikaElena
Summary: Monty's hiding something and admitting nothing, and Miller's going to find out what it is.





	in the dark, you lit me up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennycaakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/gifts).



> This is for Jenn, who requested "established relationship Minty" for her birthday fic. Happy Birthday, and I hope you're having the best time. Love you!

It was early. (Miller could tell because the light filtering through the crack between the panels of the blackout curtains was pale blue and grey, promising for a cool, cloudy morning. They had spent an admittedly long time experimenting with where along the window they could leave their curtains cracked, just an inch, so that the beam of sunlight in the morning wouldn’t directly hit their eyes or wake Monty up. Alarm or no, Miller liked knowing roughly how late in the morning it was based on the sun.)

 

Nevertheless, Miller checked his phone and, upon seeing the time, decided it was time to get up if he wanted to work-out before work.

 

“Nooooo,” Monty moaned sleepily, clutching at Miller’s arm as he tried to disentangle himself. “ _Nate_.”

 

“Monty,” Miller murmured, prying Monty’s hand off. “I gotta wake up. Gym time.”

 

“But it’s _Sunday_ , Sunday’s for sleeping in.”

 

Miller paused. “Babe,” he said. “It’s Wednesday.”

 

A beat. “Fuck.”

 

Miller chuckled as he threw back the covers, which predictably led to Monty releasing Miller’s arm abruptly, curling into himself as he chased the warmth of the bed.

 

Miller shivered, but continued on. It was late spring, and while the afternoons were pleasant enough, the mornings were still frigid. Stumbling out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he made his way to the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, where his duffel sat. Rifling through, he quickly changed into his track pants and running shirt.

 

“You comin’ back here to shower?” Monty murmured from the bed.

 

Miller shook his head, then realized that Monty had his eyes closed still. “No,” he said loudly, voice still scratchy with sleep. “Just gonna shower there and then head in.”

 

“Hmmphf.” Monty grunted.

 

Grinning, Miller slung the bag over his shoulder. “What about you, Sleeping Beauty? What’s on your agenda today?”

 

Monty worked at a start-up company and had pretty unconventional hours, usually stumbling in around 9:30, and leaving for the day anywhere between 6 and 9 pm.

 

To his shock, Monty sat up in bed, although he had the comforter tucked around him still so only his head, face creased with sleep and hair sticking up, was visible. “Might get up soon, actually,” he slurred sleepily, to Miller’s shock. “Wanna get t’work early so I can leave early.”

 

Miller frowned. “Really?” he said. “Why?”

 

“Wanna spend tonight with you,” Monty said. “You free?”

 

He and Monty saw each other often, at least three times a week, but it was rare for them to spend more than one weeknight at the other’s apartment. They kept different hours and while their friend groups were fairly integrated, they each had other things to do, their own lives. “Yeah,” Miller said, although he paused in the doorway, squinting at Monty in the dark. “What are you up to, Monty?”

 

Monty laughed, but it sounded a little uneasy to Miller’s ears. “You’re actually _suspicious_ about how I want to spend time with my boyfriend?”

 

Miller didn’t know how to articulate what he was feeling, but he just _knew_ that Monty was up to something, even if nothing was really blatantly giving him away. But he stared at Monty’s face, which remained the picture of innocence, until Monty finally raised his eyebrows at him. “Aren’t you going to be late?” He asked pointedly.

 

“Now you’re just trying to get rid of me,” Miller grumbled to be contrary, and left the room with the sound of Monty’s bright laughter at his back.

 

“Have a good day at work!”

 

* * *

 

On paper, they shouldn’t have worked, Monty and Miller.

 

Miller had a bit of a reputation for being intimidating, bordering on moody, quietly wary of people he didn’t know. At a party, he was likely to be found near Bellamy or Raven along a wall, hanging out with them while observing what everyone else was doing. False chill personified, he liked to be alone, reading the latest bestseller, going on long runs, and lately he’d discovered he liked cooking. A surprising neat freak in his later years (he blamed living with the King of Neat Freaks himself, Bellamy Blake, for the majority of his 20s) he found that he wasn’t _anxious_ when the apartment wasn’t clean, per se, but he did feel more relaxed when everything was in its proper place-- when he could look around and be visually reassured by orderliness.

 

Monty, on the other hand, was exuberant, sunshine personified, the guy everyone liked. Relaxed and upbeat, he enjoyed being around people, and loved video games, graphic novels, sci-fi movies, and the latest gadgets. He didn’t hate to clean, but he frequently forgot about it, and when he lived with Clarke in college she learned that he best thing to do was to hang a chore chart on the fridge so Monty knew exactly what he needed to do each week and had a constant visual reminder. A bit of a slob naturally, he seemed incapable of passing through a room without messing it up somehow, whether it was throwing off his hoodie and leaving it on the couch, or knocking into a table and spilling things everywhere.

 

It drove Miller crazy.

 

He loved the fuck out of his boyfriend anyway.

 

On paper, they shouldn’t have worked-- and Miller definitely thought about that, a lot. But somehow, they did, and had been working pretty well for nearly a year. He and Monty were solid, had been since they first started dating, and yet…

 

Miller worried.

 

It was stupid-- he knew it was. But he and Monty had never had any conversations about the future, about what they _meant_ to each other. He knew that they were boyfriends, that they loved each other, that they were in an exclusive, committed relationship, he just… didn’t know _how_ committed.

 

Miller had seen Monty in committed relationships before-- they had been in the same friend group since college, after all-- and he had heard Monty gush about his partners, had heard him talk about the plans they made together. It wasn’t like Monty really wanted to marry any of them, but it was clear that he very easily thought about who he was dating while making decisions in his life in a way that would make less committed people run.

 

He was an adult and knew that he should just _ask_ Monty, start a conversation, but it was easier said than done. And what if Monty was only-- well, casual wasn’t the right word, but what if he didn’t want what Miller wanted?

 

Miller wondered about it as he went about his day, unable to stop himself from worrying, especially because, even if he didn’t _know_ , he still knew that Monty was up to something. A few times he thought about texting Bellamy, but he didn’t want to worry the King of Worrying, and besides, he knew what he would say, anyway.

 

As a result, by the time it hit 5 pm Miller was completely wound-up and unable to focus. Pressing his palms into his eyes, he decided to call it a day-- he wasn’t going to get anything else done. Leaving his desk, Miller told himself he was going to go back to his apartment until Monty was ready for him to come over, but was too distracted to really think about it and inevitably found himself at Monty’s anyway. He spent a good portion of his time there-- he liked his own apartment, but his roommate, Murphy, could be a bit of a douchebag and he and Monty didn’t get along well. Monty lived alone, anyway, so it was just easier.

 

Miller tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, wondering how far away Monty was from coming home. There was a library down the street-- he could go hang out there until Monty texted him, but--

 

His phone buzzed.

  
**Monty** :

Hey! You off work yet? 

 

**Me:**

Yeah

 

**Me:**

At your apt building, actually

 

**Monty:**

Ahh, ok! 

 

**Monty:**

Held up at work, sorry

 

**Me:**

It's ok

 

**Me:**

Don't rush, I'lt just go chill at the library

 

Miller saw the dreaded “...” appear and disappear a few times before Monty responded again.

 

**Monty:**

No need! 

 

**Monty:**

I had a feeling this might happen, so the key is under the mat

 

**Monty:**

Let yourself in and I'll let you know when I'm coming home  
 

Miller blinked. Monty had never left his key for him before.

 

“ _Sounds good,_ ” he responded anyway, before tucking his phone away and getting out of the car. He knew the code to get into Monty’s building, luckily, and sure enough, under the mat that Miller insisted Monty buy to help get the extra dirt off his shoes, was Monty’s key.

 

Miller let himself in, feeling more comfortable than he thought he’d be without Monty here, considering it was his first time. He wasn’t sure what either fact said about their relationship.

 

It wasn’t too long before Monty texted that he was coming home and that he was bringing dinner, and by the time he heard Monty’s knock, Miller was settled comfortably on the couch, reading a book he had left there the night before.

 

Opening it up, he found Monty, arms full of take-out. “Hey, you!” He said, lighting up as Miller reached to take a bag from him, leaning into him for a kiss. “How was your day?”

 

It was such an easy, innocuous question, but the whole scene was so stupidly domestic that it made Miller’s dumb heart ache. “Good,” he said. “Uneventful. You?”

 

Monty made a face and then launched into an explanation of his co-worker’s screw-up as he and Miller unpacked the food and got out plates and utensils. They ate in companionable silence, Monty’s right foot hooked around Miller’s ankle, as was his preference, and if Miller had finally started to relax, he began to tense again as Monty snuck searching glances at him throughout dinner.

 

Miller pushed his plate away. “What’s wrong?” he asked flatly. When he felt nervous or awkward he had the tendency to become blunt-- or, as Bellamy put it, even _more_ blunt than usual.

 

Monty’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong with _me_ ?” He said. “What’s wrong with _you_?”

 

Miller scowled. “ _ou’re_ the one who keeps looking at me!” He protested.

 

“ _You’re_ the one who looks tense!” Monty said.

 

“I--” Miller stopped. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

“Nate,” Monty said softly, putting his hand over Miller’s. “Don’t be sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

Miller swallowed, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes. “It’s stupid,” he said.

 

“What you feel isn’t stupid,” Monty said, standing up from the table and pulling Miller to the couch. Monty sat, maneuvering Miller so that he straddled Monty’s lap. “Talk to me.”

 

“I don’t know if I’m being paranoid,” Miller said, fidgeting. He _hated_ talking about feelings. “But it just-- this morning threw me off and I feel like something’s wrong with-- with us, and it’s just taken over my brain a little.’

 

Now it was Monty’s turn to fidget. Miller stilled. “Monty,” he said.

 

“It’s nothing bad!” Monty protested, looking miserable and guilty despite his words. “I’m sorry, Nate. I didn’t want to make you worry, but um, I _did_ want to Talk tonight.”

 

Miller felt himself grow cold, ignoring Monty’s reassurances. He shifted, and then winced, as that precise angle caused the key in his pocket to dig into his thigh. Digging it out of his pocket, he held it out to Monty. “Before we start, here’s your key,” he said roughly.

 

To his surprise, Monty smiled. “That’s what I want to talk about, actually,” he said. “It’s nothing bad, unless _you_ think it is. But I think you might like this.”

 

Miller frowned, puzzled. “Might like what?”

 

“The key. It’s, um-- it’s a copy. I had it made for you. If you want it.”

 

“For me?” Miller asked, his fingers already curling around the key again, feeling himself relax a little. “Yeah, that-- that makes sense,” he said. “I can get one made for you for my apartment as well.”

 

Monty shook his head, licking his lips. Miller stared, confused. “No, I mean-- if you want, but I. What I wanted to talk about was maybe, if you want, we could move in together?”

 

Miller blinked. That… had not crossed his mind of things that Monty might want to discuss. “Move in together?”

 

“We don’t have to!” Monty said in a rush, and beneath him Miller could feel Monty’s right leg begin to jiggle a little. “It’s just-- we spend more time here than your apartment, and I know your lease is up in a couple months, and you hate living with Murphy, and you were saying that he might move in with his girlfriend anyway, and I’m-- I’m so in love with you. I want you here. But if you don’t want to, or you’re not ready, or-- or, if you don’t think you’ll _ever_ be ready, that’s-- that’s--”

 

“Monty,” Miller said quietly, once he finally absorbed all of that information. He framed Monty’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly and softly. He pulled away to bring their foreheads together. “I love you so much,” he said. “And I would love to live with you.”

 

Monty grinned, relieved, pulling Miller in for a celebratory kiss. Miller ran his hands through Monty’s hair, down his neck, their mutual joy running through them both like a circuit.

 

But Miller wanted to make it clear, because if Monty could be brave then he could be, too, “Hey, Monty,” Miller said softly, “maybe this is redundant since we’re going to live together, but. I’m so-- I’m so serious about you. I want this to work.”

 

It was clearly the right thing to say, regardless, as Monty’s face lit up at the words. “I’m serious about you, too,” he said, leaning up to brush his lips against Miller’s. “So serious. I want us to be together for a long time.”

 

Miller could picture it so easily-- moving into Monty’s sun-lit apartment and having him be the first thing Miller saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night; hosting their friends for dinner parties and movie marathons; buying more bookshelves for Miller’s books and getting into arguments about Monty cleaning; getting a cat because Monty wanted one, and then later getting a dog because Miller wanted one; he saw everything, the good, the bad-- he saw exactly the life he wanted.

 

And with Monty by his side, they’d have it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Man, it has been a while since I've written anything. Even getting ~2500 words out of me was rough. But it feels good, nonetheless, even if I'm rusty af. 
> 
> Title is from James Arthur's "Say You Won't Let Go" because of course it is. 
> 
> Also as an FYI, to help me along, I had Jenn pick three numbers (6, 21, 84) from this post: http://melika-elena.tumblr.com/post/170500520794/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you


End file.
